


what we love about art

by bloodscout



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, Getting Together, Movie Night, Trans Melanie King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29426655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodscout/pseuds/bloodscout
Summary: Georgie and Melanie’s friendship is formed over weekly horror movie nights. Melanie is happy to keep quiet about her growing crush, until their movie nights become a weekly competition over who can suggest the gayest movie.Georgie winked, and swapped out her goodbye for a teasing, “See if you can top me next time, King.”Amongst the thoughts that sprung unbidden about exactly when, where, and how Melanie would like to top her – immediately, right here, and with as much kissing as physically possible – came the moment of understanding. It was a game. Georgie had devised this as an odd little courtship ritual, and Melanie was supposed to win.
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16
Collections: TMA Valentine's Exchange 2021





	what we love about art

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for Yael!! Happy Valentines. I’m working my way out of a writing rut and I’m not 100% happy with this but I hope you enjoy these dorky WTGFs.  
> Timeline for this is a little unclear but essentially - I did not want to write serious angst so this is probably more than a bit of an AU.
> 
> Title is from To You by Frank O'Hara

Melanie needed to find a film with a desperation that she hadn’t felt since her first (and last) semester in university, when she had been asked to present on a film that had “negatively impacted her filmmaking ethos”. The difference was that this time, Melanie was up against much higher stakes than a fail grade from a lecturer who thought that horror films “do nothing more than play to the basic emotions of our caveman ancestors”. This time, Melanie had to pick film that would woo Georgie Barker.

The movie nights had originally been Georgie’s idea – something about finding friends to have in your corner in a cutthroat industry. Melanie had thought the idea a little trite. It sounded too girl power-y for her tastes, and she half expected to arrive at Georgie’s for a night of sipping rosé, nail painting, and gossip that neatly skirted actually talking about the rank sexism they experienced every day. But Georgie was right, they were two of the only women in their admittedly niche field. And Georgie always said women, not girls, which Melanie noticed and appreciated. So she had said yes.

Unsurprisingly, it started with horror movies. They would alternate picking the film each week, ranging from schlocky to the kinds of stories that would have Melanie jolting awake for several nights afterward. Melanie was more than a little ashamed to realise how wrong her assumption had been. Georgie was bold, confident, and bitingly funny. She kept pace with Melanie no matter what she was ranting about. Most of all, it was Georgie’s stoicism, her unflinching reaction to the goriest of slasher scenes, or the most unexpected of jump scares, that built the foundations of a crush.

Melanie knew she was properly gone when the discussions of the movies became more important than the movies themselves, when she started choosing films based on the conversation that would follow.

One week, Georgie picked the original 1963 of _The Haunting_ , which marked the beginning of the end. They had independently watched the new Netflix series, both completing it in over the stretch of a single weekend. Melanie would have gladly watched it with Georgie, but even the thought of suggesting moving from regular movie nights to a whole television-binge weekend brought her out in a cold sweat. As good horror-adjacent professionals, they had both read Shirley Jackson’s original book, but Melanie’s interaction with the text had stopped there.

“You’ll like this,” Georgie promised, as she plugged her laptop into the TV’s HDMI port.

_I like_ you, Melanie thought immediately, and then frowned at the unforgivable cheesiness of her internal monologue’s pick-up lines.

It was the beginning of the end because the original _Haunting_ was gay. Like, medically-inadvisable-levels-of-lesbian-yearning gay. Cheeks-flaming-and-nervous-giggling gay. Even though Melanie expected as much, she hadn’t expected the way that it reignited all her teenage awkwardness, and it _certainly_ didn’t help that Georgie was grinning every time Melanie looked her way, that slightly toothy one that made Melanie want to climb right onto her lap and kiss her senseless. Worst of all, though, was that in her excitement, Georgie had grabbed Melanie’s hand and squeezed it tight enough that the pads of her fingers went white.

“Wow,” Georgie had breathed as the credits rolled. “It’s just so tragic, isn’t it? That Eleanor chose the house over Theo?”

It was a gross oversimplification, and not one that Georgie necessarily agreed with, but it would prompt the next hour of debate with ease. Georgie often did things like that, picking up on what Melanie was thinking and saying the opposite just to get her talking. She was the only person who could play devil’s advocate for more than a minute without Melanie wanting to tear her head off.

But Georgie didn’t let her answer. “I certainly wouldn’t let you choose a place like that over me.”

Through many years of practice, Melanie was able to keep her face neutral at that. It took effort, of course, because her heart was thundering loud enough to put Poe to shame. Because Georgie was a Balliol alum, and she knew how to read subtext like it was her first language. Theo and Eleanor were lovers – there was no way, short of a freak form of quick-onset amnesia, that Georgie would have missed that. She was incontrovertible, undeniably, categorically flirting. And Melanie didn’t have a fucking _clue_ what to say back.

So, she took the coward’s route, and opted for ignorance.

“But Eleanor obviously didn’t _have_ a choice,” Melanie insisted, her gaze not shifting from the screen in front of them. “You can’t just love someone out of a haunting.”

“You definitely can!” Georgie protested, and began to list the evidence for her claim. Melanie allowed herself to breathe. To breathe, and to plan.

Melanie’s grand plan was to come back the next week with _Jennifer’s Body_. It was a lazy choice, as far as sapphic horror films went, but Melanie was not known for her subtlety. The movie ended, and they stayed up late into the night ranting about the mistakes of the film’s marketing team, extolling the virtues of Megan Fox’s acting prowess, and deciding on which men they would eat first if they were turned into carnivorous succubi. Georgie’s choice was the barista who kept putting skim milk in her coffee even though she ordered full cream, every time. Melanie’s was her latest lighting guy, who had smacked her on the arse before he was promptly shouted off set.

Melanie wanted to bring up the kiss, wanted to ask whether this fantasy world involved either of them as a doe-eyed and doting Needy Lesnicky.

They spoke so late that Georgie offered Melanie the couch to kip on overnight, bundling her in spare blankets and offering two slightly too thin pillows. Georgie said goodnight, and didn’t move to kiss her. In the morning, they made breakfast together, and Georgie still didn’t kiss her. She walked Melanie to the tube station – Melanie having forgotten her umbrella despite the near-constant September drizzle – and when Georgie hugged her at the turnstiles, she didn’t even lean in. So, Melanie had misread the signals. Maybe Georgie had just picked the film because she thought Melanie would like it, subtext free. Next week they will have dropped it, and their movie nights would go back to shouting at the absurdity of the _Leprechaun_ franchise.

Except the next week, Georgie played them Mulholland Drive, and the only reason Melanie focused on the movie instead of what Georgie intended to say by picking it was that she wanted to talk about it afterwards.

When Melanie left, umbrella firmly in hand, Georgie gave her a kiss on the cheek. This was not unusual behavior for Georgie. She was a tactile person, and they hugged frequently, but Melanie had not previously been the recipient of this particular form of casual affection. She had to hold herself back from pressing her hand to her cheek like someone out of a period drama.

Georgie winked, and swapped out her goodbye for a teasing, “See if you can top me next time, King.”

Amongst the thoughts that sprung unbidden about exactly when, where, and how Melanie would like to top her – immediately, right there, and with as much kissing as physically possible – came the moment of understanding. It was a game. Georgie had devised this as an odd little courtship ritual, and Melanie was supposed to win.

Choosing _The Hunger_ had been a leap of faith – Melanie had not seen it, and the only person she knew who had was an ex-classmate who spent his second year working his way through Catherine Deneuve’s entire filmography. The risk seemed to pay off, however, because not only did it serve to continue their trend of sapphic horror, but the mishandling of the final scene lead to a good hour of discussion, Georgie’s eyes bright with fascination the entire time.

Melanie was very nearly – but not quite – surprised that she left Georgie’s apartment as single and touch-starved as when she arrived.

It was Georgie’s pick after that, and without a film to obsessively research, Melanie spent the following seven days more restless and irritable than usual. She saved every meme she so much as chuckled at, and only sent Georgie a third of them, if that. She thought about Georgie _all the time_. She’d unwittingly stumbled into her own Georgie marathon, except that there was no neat date where she’d finally be done.

“I feel like… soup.” She bemoaned to Andy while they blocked out their next episode.

“I can, uh, pop down to Pret if you really need?”

Melanie groaned, her arms coming down to slap at her sides. “No, you bellend, I mean I,” she waved a hand to indicate her body. “feel like _soup_. I _feel_ like soup. Just.” A sigh, mostly genuine. “Blegh.”

Andy nodded like he had any idea what she was saying. Served her right for trying to talk to someone who was such a bone-deep skeptic that, at times, it seemed like he doubted the existence of human emotion all together.

“Just,” she bit out. “Let’s finish this so I can go home and, I don’t know, fucking mope about it.”

Suffice to say, Melanie was not ready for the curveball Georgie threw at her come Friday.

“Thought we’d go with something different tonight, if that’s okay with you?” Her whole posture was casual, the DVD case held loosely in her hand, and Melanie tried her hardest not to start hyperventilating.

“I’ve never seen this actually, but I’ve had the DVD for _years_ , and I figure if it’s really bad then we can just yell at it.” She explained, completely unruffled.

“Cool.” Melanie said, her voice surprisingly even. “I’ll. Order pizza, then.”

Pizza was normal. They always did pizza. Chicken supreme for Georgie, Margherita on a gluten-free base for Melanie. What they very much _did not_ do was watch _Room In Rome_ , which was decidedly not a horror film. Melanie was more thrown by this departure from tradition than she was by the movie itself. Blessing come in disguise, because Melanie didn’t have the emotional energy to think about the fact that Georgie had suggested they watch one of the most erotic lesbian movies she knew of.

This was definitely an escalation – one that Melanie welcomed, of course, but one that she wasn’t sure how to respond to. She couldn’t misread the signs that Georgie was telegraphing, but neither could she determine what signs to give in return. As Melanie had come to expect, Georgie didn’t mention the new direction their movie nights had taken, and she was left to wonder what move Georgie wanted her to take next.

All of this is to ilustrate how Melanie found herself hunched over her laptop at four in the morning, illuminated only by blue light, trawling through review after review to find the film that would convince Georgie that she was a suitable girlfriend.

Running her thumbnail through the stubble that was just peeking through, she x-ed out of possibly the hundredth list of “Top 20 Must-Watch Lesbian Movies!” she had read that night. She was looking at this like an exam, which was entirely wrong. If Georgie was going to choose to date Melanie, not it was going to be because of her personality, not her ability to analyse films. Which, now that Melanie was thinking about it, was most of the problem. She was prickly, and obsessive, and she held a grudge with ease.

“So much for putting your best foot forward.” She muttered, closing the lid of her laptop.

She’d go simple, then. Back to basics.

She arrived at Georgie’s exactly on time, with her hair freshly washed and wearing the least patched jeans she owned. She imagined that this is how teenagers in American movies felt while they waited to pick up their date for the prom. And fuck, they still hadn’t got around to watching the new _Carrie_.

Georgie let her in and told her that the pizza was already on its way, before asking what Melanie had picked this week.

She held aloft the DVD of _But I’m A Cheerleader_. It was obvious that it was an old copy, the clear plastic now slightly yellowed, and a crack spanning the top left corner.

“It was, uh, the first time I’d seen lesbians in a film.” Melanie explained, which felt more exposing than it should have. In one sentence, she had admitted that she knew what they were doing, and that she had picked this to share with Georgie specifically.

It felt like the right choice, at first. Melanie was opening herself up to Georgie, sharing an important part of her personal journey. By the end of the film, Georgie had tears welling in her eyes, and Melanie had surreptitiously wiped away evidence of the same.

“God.” Melanie said.

“Yeah.” Georgie agreed.

At Georgie’s pause, Melanie’s previous confidence was turned on its head. Maybe she should have picked something better, something more engaging, rather than the first film she had latched onto as a lonely teenager. It made her look pathetic, she was sure of it. She thought she’d figured out how to convince Georgie she was good enough, but it was more likely that she’d just destroyed her chances all together. She was opening herself up to Georgie, but the simple fact might be that Georgie wouldn’t like what she saw.

Georgie spoke, pulling her out of her spiral. “What I loved most was that it’s so visually compelling. It feels almost–”

“What,” Melanie interrupted, throwing her arms up above her head, “is this? What am I doing? How do I win?”

In an instant, Georgie’s face went completely blank. Melanie couldn’t understand how she could do that, how she could shut off so completely. Sometimes it felt like she was looking at a corpse.

“Win?” Georgie asked, tone unreadable.

Melanie took a deep breath and tried to steady her voice. “I mean, this is me proving myself to you, right? This is how I show you I’m worth it. Worth dating, worth being around.”

God, it sounded so childish when she said it out loud. Georgie’s patient attention was the only thing that stopped her from getting up and walking directly out the door, but the thought was still incredibly tempting. Georgie started to worry at the side of her thumb with her teeth, evidently at a loss for words.

“I just,” Melanie sighed, frustration flowing out of her as if through a crack in a dam. “I want to know what I’m doing wrong.”

Georgie’s exhale was like a gust. “I’ve cocked this up.”

Melanie pushed herself up to protest. “No, I–”

“No, really, Melanie. This is my fault. I was… It wasn’t fair to tease you like that.”

Melanie’s heart had dropped to approximately six feet below ground. As if to shield herself, she pulled her knees up to her chest and pressed against the arm of the couch, curling her lanky body up as small as she could.

“I shouldn’t have assumed.” She murmured, barely audible.

“Melanie,” Georgie breathed, and Melanie’s eyes snapped to hers as if pulled by a magnet. “I want to date you. This was just… I don’t know, me letting you say it first.”

Melanie’s responding laugh was just on the edge of hysterical. “Fuck.”

From the way Georgie was biting down on her lip, she was trying not to laugh as well. “I mean,” she hedged. “It worked. You did tell me first, technically.”

That pushed Melanie over the edge, and she was laughing so hard her face ached with it. By the time Melanie could catch her breath, Georgie had moved so that they were sharing the same cushion. Just like that, Melanie forgot how to breathe all over again.

“Are you going to do anything about it, then?” Georgie challenged.

All that was left for Melanie to do, both in that moment and possibly until the end of her life, was to kiss Georgie so solidly that she forgot how to do anything else.

Melanie’s first thought was that Georgie’s lips were still a little greasy from the pizza. She could taste the cheese when she swept her tongue over Georgie’s lower lip, but underneath that was something indescribable, something sweet and subtle and human. What was most fascinating, though, was the way Georgie’s face felt cupped in her hands. Melanie could run her thumb along the line of Georgie’s cheekbone, brush her fingers against the curling baby hairs at her hairline, and she did so with something approaching reverence. The sensation of it all burrowed deep into her bones, reshaping her in small but irreversible ways.

Their kisses eventually slowed, but Melanie was loathe to take her hands away from Georgie’s skin.

“Does this mean,” she whispered into the precious space between their mouths. “That we can go back to watching normal films now?”

Georgie giggled, which caused Melanie’s heart to perform a full gymnastics routine in response. “What?”

“I mean, can we watch horror films again? I’ve been wanting to watch the new _Susperia_ with you, but it isn’t gay, so I couldn’t pick it, and it’s been _months_ , Georgie.”

Georgie leant in for another kiss, and it was only through sheer force of will that Melanie managed to keep track of the conversation.

“Let’s watch it tomorrow, then.” Georgie suggested.

This confused Melanie. “We have plans?”

There was another kiss, but quicker this time, as if they were only allowed a few seconds between them. Georgie’s voice dropped low, and Melanie could feel the brush of her lips as she spoke. “I might be wrong, but I think you were planning to stay the night.”

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to my fiancée, Tess, for knowing more about horror films AND lesbian films than I could ever hope to, and for listening to me shout about this fic from across our apartment. And as always, thanks to the Lesbian Archives for keeping me afloat and encouraging me to write that good, good wlw content.


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